


Love is a Deserter

by WantsUnicorns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curses, Dark Magic, Disability, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Getting Back Together, Hate Crimes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Mention of abuse, Mild Gore, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6645646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WantsUnicorns/pseuds/WantsUnicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an unexpected encounter, Harry finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about the world he lives in. The deeper he digs, the more disturbing are the things he finds. He is torn between setting things right and the harm that could do to the people he loves. Eventually he has to realise that some things are larger than him and that or everything to get better he might actually have to start with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a Deserter

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to **smirkingcat** for the beta and for helping me push this fic up to the finish line. I couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> Also thank you to the mods and their kindess and support when RL wouldn't let me sit down to write. You've been amazing! 10/10 would work on another fest with (if you'll have me again)
> 
> Title from "Your Love is a Deserter" by The Kills.
> 
> I've always wanted to write a fic about permanent injury/disability and how that would change the dynamic of a relationship. Combined with my love of the getting back together trope both characters had quite a ways to go before that could happen. While Draco is suffering from permanent injury, I focussed on Harry in this fic. Just as a pointer.
> 
> While my fic turned out darker than I had anticipated, I do hope my promptee still enjoys how I handled the general idea behind it.
> 
> If you want to comment, I would really apprciate it either here or on the original LJ post.
> 
> For spoilery info about the warnings, please see the end notes.

It doesn’t start at the beginning like other stories do. It starts at this messy in between place, where old feelings and unexpected situations collide. It starts with a seemingly innocuous event, a visit to the park in late summer, the sun sharing the last warmth before autumn brings an influx of scarves, fallen leaves and pumpkins.

Harry is visiting the park with his and Dudley’s children, a last day trip together before the children go back to Hogwarts. It’s a pleasant day and while Harry already feels exhausted from socialising with Dudley, he doesn’t mind, spending the time together. They both make an effort to get along better and amazingly enough where they fail, their children succeed. This mostly means that sleepovers and hasty handshakes, as they run past to play with their cousins, is all they seem to do these days. Sometimes it bothers Harry that Dudley and him never found common ground but he doesn’t know how to change it, let alone where to even begin to find some.

So they meet occasionally, handing over their children to each other and then parting ways. Except for that one day where they all meet in London to go Hogwarts shopping for their children. It’s Dudley’s third time already. They are sitting on one of the lawns after having carefully stepped over the “don’t walk on the grass” sign that now says “please bring your own blankets” and are watching their children wreak havoc. Some of the passersby give them annoyed looks that parents the world over are used to ignoring completely. Children are noisy and sticky and they are supposed to be like that.

Harry hands Dudley a bottle of butter beer, which he takes gratefully, butter beer being one of the wizarding additions to the Dursley household that were utterly welcome from moment one. Harry takes a large sip and lies back on his elbows turning his face into the sun.

The pleasant respite is interrupted when a shadow falls across him. Harry reluctantly opens his eyes, a half-arsed excuse already on the tip of his tongue when he comes face to face with Draco Malfoy.

“You are trespassing, please return to the areas designated for public use,” Draco says, his voice void of emotion.

Harry can’t help himself, Malfoy dressed in what is the gardener’s equivalent of a penguin suit, talking about trespassing, is too unexpected and absurd, he laughs.

Draco’s expression becomes even more closed off.

“Sir, I asked you to move off the grass, if you won’t comply, I’ll have to get security involved.”

“As if. What are you even doing here, Malfoy? Behaving like you own the place and prancing about like a fool, as usual, I see.”

Malfoy’s hands are trembling with what can only be barely concealed anger. If Harry didn’t know that Malfoy’s wand both old and new had been taken into custody after the battle of Hogwarts and both of them weren’t likely to be released any time soon, he might have worried about consequences. As it is, Harry never does know when to stop.

“I said, please leave the lawn, Sir. You and your children are damaging the plants.”

Harry is surprised to see tears spring up in Malfoy’s eyes. Surely that is impossible.

“What are you going to do, cry like the little Slytherin bitch you are?”

“Harry.”

Dudley’s hand on his shoulder is a surprise.

“Let’s just go. It’s getting late anyway and I promised Charlene I’d be home for dinner.”

Harry checks his Muggle watch and sees that it’s indeed time to get going if they want make it back to the Leaky Cauldron to meet up with Ginny. Harry casts one last look at Malfoy before grabbing his things and calling his kids over. One foot still on the grass, Harry turns back to him.

“Don’t think I’ll let this go, Malfoy. I’ll find out what you are up to.”

At the gate Harry looks over his shoulder once more, taking in Malfoy who hasn’t moved and just stands there on the grass, the sun turning his pale hair into a halo, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. It wasn’t always this easy to get under Malfoy’s skin or get him to show emotions, but either way he deserves every bit of bad fortune that comes his way.

Reassured, Harry follows his children to the next tube station. He will never understand their fascination with public transport, probably their grandfather’s fault. Arthur Weasley can make anything Muggle sound like an adventure. Harry joins them all, their Oystercards in hand as if they were wands and the thought of Malfoy slips his mind.

That night, Harry lies in bed, the image of Malfoy, his head bent, the very picture of defeat burnt into his mind. Dudley had taken him aside when their children were saying their goodbyes and had asked about what had happened with Malfoy to have Harry react like that. Harry had simply said that he knew Malfoy from school and tried to change the subject, which was when Dudley had insisted on saying his piece.

If Dudley thinks he behaved like a bully in the park then maybe he really did. But doesn’t Draco deserve it all, the filthy liar and bigoted racist that he is? Doesn’t he deserve anything bad that happened to him? Harry is unable to find an answer. However something like worry remains.

With his luck, his and Malfoy’s children are probably headed for what they call BFF-ship already and just haven’t wanted to tell him yet. To be fair it is safe to say that their friendship will never lead to sleepovers of any kind, a Malfoy will never sleep under his roof again, not after everything.

**

“What do you mean Al got sorted into Slytherin together with Margy Dursley and Scorpius Malfoy? You cannot be serious.”

“Harry, calm down, it’s not the end of the world. You always said Slytherins aren’t evil and that they should be accepted for who they are.”

Sure, he had said that, but the fact remains that Harry isn’t friends with any Slytherins, nor does he know anyone who is friends with one. Luna possibly, but then Luna is Luna, she would befriend a polar bear if she felt like it, or a rock, come to think of it.

Slytherins are sort of strange, they don’t make friends with non-Slytherins and Harry knows they are untrustworthy. Everyone knows that. Sure there are probably ok Slytherins out there, but it’s always important to be vigilant, more than one of them could be up to something and who knows maybe one of them was going to become the next Voldemort. Better safe than sorry.

It’s impossible. Albus can’t be in Slytherin. A Malfoy in Slytherin is no surprise to anyone but his son and Dudley’s daughter? How had that even happened?

“The Sorting Hat must have made a mistake.”

“Harry,” Ginny says and reaches through the flames but stops before she can touch his forearm. “You know very well that it doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Well, then Al just didn’t want to be in Gryffindor badly enough.”

“Harry, I know this is difficult for you, but Albus is happy and when he comes in here in a moment to talk to you, you will be happy for him. I don’t care what you really think, he is your son, you accept him the way he is, even if he’s in Slytherin, there’s worse things he could be.”

Harry simply nods. _Yeah, he could be an arsehole, oh wait, that’s the same thing_ , he thinks, but is too much of a coward to say out loud. Lionhearted his arse.

When Albus arrives he is full of joy and laughter and so is Margy who keeps poking her head into the conversation, talking about how awesome the dungeons and the new underwater windows are and that she can probably see Merpeople from her bed. Harry smiles and cheers them on, while still worried about what is going to happen.

After the firecall Harry slumps into his favourite armchair and fills a tumbler with firewhiskey. He doesn’t drink it right away, just sits there staring into the now orange flames, trying to figure out where the hell he went wrong in raising his son, that he became a Slytherin. It has to be his fault. Ginny had always been kind to the children and even to Harry when he had confessed to her after the final battle that all he wanted was a family, but that he wasn’t in love with her, never had been. Somehow she had been ok with having children with him and living as friends and parents. It couldn’t have been her.

Eventually Harry falls asleep, the empty tumbler dropping from his unfeeling fingers, the fire having died down some time ago.

**

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hm?”

Harry wakes up disoriented, his glasses have fallen down somehow and all he can see is a vaguely blonde shape in front of him. And then there’s the angry shouting.

“I asked what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Harry manages to locate his glasses between his thigh and the armrest, and wrestles them out and onto his nose. They are crooked again, what else is new. Harry rubs his eyes, trying to get his brain to wake up and stupidly stares up at Luna who’s finally in focus.

“What, Luna? What’s going on?”

“Your complete and utter asshattery made me come to your house in the middle of the fucking night, that’s what’s going on.”

“Asshattery?” Harry asks, reduced to repeating the keywords in Luna’s statement.

“Yes, what were you thinking talking to him like that?”

“Do you mean Al? I didn’t give him a hard time over getting sorted into Slytherin.”

Luna punches him in the arm. Unsurprisingly it doesn’t help jog his memory.

“You are such an arsehole, Harry Potter!”

He is shocked at hearing laid back, holistic, crazy and overall wonderful Luna use language like that.

“If Ginny told you that I wasn’t supportive of Al getting sorted into Slytherin, she was lying.”

Harry sees Luna’s fists clenched at her side; not punching him again appears to be a conscious effort on her part.

“I’m talking about Draco, you idiot.”

Being called an idiot is something Harry is familiar with, how his being an idiot relates to Malfoy escapes him though. Luna goes on as if his input isn’t a necessary part of this scolding.

“Do you know how long it took me to get him to agree to leave the house after what happened? It took months until he would even talk to me or Floo to my practise and just because your stupid, fat mouth is not connected to your brain at all, he’s locked himself in his room again.”

“What did I say?”

“You know very well what you said, just because someone has been sorted into Slytherin doesn’t mean they are a bad person. You should know that. After all you told your own son it didn’t change anything, so why is it different for everyone else?”

“You know what he did during the war-“

“Merlin, Harry, he was a scared boy, just like you! You can’t make him pay penance for the rest of his life. He has a right to life away from all that horror, just like everyone else. No matter on which side or however misguided they were. He’s a victim as much as you and I. For someone who has received so much compassion from everyone in the wizarding world, you sure as hell can’t seem to show any.”

Harry feels chastised, first Dudley and now Luna, perhaps there is something to what they’re saying.

“But...”

“Don’t you dare tell me he deserved what he got! If you can be that cruel I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

“Luna, what the hell are you even talking about? Nothing happened to him, he didn’t even get punished for what he did during the war. He got to keep everything, his reputation, his money, his family. Everything! He’s never been alone like I have.”

“Oh Harry.” Luna looks at him pityingly. It’s obvious that it’s not for what happened when he was a child. 

“You’re so blind to everything. I didn’t want to say anything at first, because you were one of the few who treated me like I was only eccentric and not crazy, when I warned you about the wrackspurts, I know that. I thought that meant you’d be more observant than others. I see I was wrong.”

“Luna, I see you for who...”

“That’s not what we’re talking about here, Harry. It takes more than just liking people who are a bit loony. You only kept me around, because you felt pity for me and because you thought I needed protection. Maybe I did, but that doesn’t mean that other people don’t need your consideration and protection also.”

Luna smiles sadly at him, before walking towards his fireplace. She turns to him once more.

“Maybe you should look into what happened at King’s Cross Station three years ago, not everyone is as lucky as you. Good night, Harry.”

Luna vanishes in a flash of green light, leaving a thoughtful Harry behind. What could she possibly have meant? What had happened at King’s Cross?

**

Something was wrong. Draco realised when he stepped out onto Platform nine and three-quarters. His face, throat and hands felt unnaturally warm and dry, the skin seemingly stretching more tightly across his flesh.

“Father, are you coming? I don’t want to miss the train.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Draco brushed his hands together and the strange sensation that was most likely related to some new wards along the barrier, slowly dispersed.

Scorpius was excitedly tugging his luggage along while Draco carried the cage containing his son’s snow owl. Much like the one Potter used to have. Draco hadn’t liked the idea, but when he had seen the joy in Scorpius’ face, he hadn’t had the heart to say no. Not everything was about Potter after all. Although Draco was having a hard time going even a day without thinking about him. Potter had made sure that he wouldn’t.

As Draco waved after the Hogwarts Express heat suddenly engulfed his hands and face. The last thing he remembered was the sound of someone screaming, before he passed out.

**

“...some kind of curse, I don’t know which.”

“...do you think he was targeted specifically?”

“Who cares, give him the standard antidote and send him home.”

“Do you know who that is?”

“Exactly.”

Draco felt himself drift, there were people coming and going and sometimes he felt like he was one of them. Bandages were applied to his face, hands and legs and then exchanged. It was difficult to open his eyes even a little bit so he kept them closed and listened most of the time. 

He was in a strange in between place, where nothing seemed to matter. The pain didn’t lessen significantly over time and it more than anything held him back. 

It was one thought in particular that struck him and made him open his eyes and try to sit up.

“Scorpius.”

Draco struggled against strong hands holding him down.

“Where is my son?”

“Hold him down, would you?”

“Mr Malfoy, if you don’t calm down right now, we’ll have to sedate you again.” Another voice this time, one that sounded somewhat gleeful.

Something pressed into Draco’s neck as he continued to struggle. He fought with all his strength, but whatever it was they were using, was pulling him under into darkness. One last time Draco tried to free himself, gaining sudden energy from being afraid to never see his son again. It wasn’t enough.

**

“Mr Malfoy, as it seems the only time the curse flares up is when you use magic, so I suggest refraining from it as much as possible. This potion will help with the pain and if you decide to check yourself out, we’ll provide you with a mask to protect your skin.” The woman handed over the items and then went on. “We’ll keep researching an antidote, but for now I believe you’d be better off at home with your loved ones.”

Draco could barely contain a snort, “loved ones”. The ones he loved were either at Hogwarts or had made it painfully clear how little they cared for him when they’d cut him up like a Christmas ham in the second floor bathroom. As for his parents, his father was slowly declining into melancholy, as the Wizengamot had insisted on a lifetime’s house arrest if Lucius wanted to stay out of Azkaban. His mother, while having tried to take care of her husband after Draco had moved in with Astoria, hadn’t been able to bear it and was mostly vacationing somewhere nice and warm. Currently at the French Rivera with Mrs Parkinson and from the postcards he had been receiving occasionally Pansy as well.

He still loved Potter. There was nothing he could do about it. He had tried to move on, had got married, had a child, got divorced when things hadn’t worked out. Additionally to the constant reminder burned into his skin, that even Astoria had found difficult to hide her disgust from, Potter was everywhere, opening an orphanage here, having perfect Weasley children there. There was no getting away from him and no chance for Draco to fall out of love. Even though he knew that the only way was to minimise his exposure. The only way that would have worked, was to leave the country. But Draco wasn’t allowed, because unlike his mother, who had saved Potter’s and everyone’s life, the fact that he’d been scared for his family and coerced into becoming a Death Eater hadn’t seemed to faze the Wizengamot at all. They had revoked his apparition licence and were holding his papers hostage, as, according to them, he still presented a flight risk. That he had nowhere to go didn’t seem to matter.

Draco signed the papers where he was supposed to, nodded when it seemed appropriate and then collected his things when he was told to. It was on the way out that he barely managed to avoid bumping into a small, slender woman that was coming out of a patient’s room, her arms full of cushions, the stack so high that Draco was unable to make out her face.

“Pardon me.” He said, already moving away, when she turned around and smiled at him. It was Luna Lovegood.

“Draco, what are you doing here? Are you visiting someone? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Draco didn’t think that he deserved such a kind reaction from someone who had essentially been tortured and locked up in his own basement for months. Luna however didn’t give him a choice.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, setting the cushions down on one of the chairs that were arranged along the hallway. She took his trembling hands into hers. “Are you ok?”

Draco barely managed to shake his head. Probably sensing that he was about to come undone. She manoeuvred him into the room she had just emerged from and pushed him to sit down on a sofa before taking the seat beside him and resting her hand on his.

Luna didn’t speak, she just sat there holding his hand and quietly passed him a handkerchief when he began to cry. Afterwards he didn’t even know whether they had spoken, all he knew was that she gave him a hug and promised to come and visit him soon. Meeting her left him feeling both protected and exposed. He made sure nobody saw him when he left the hospital before illegally apparating back to Malfoy Manor.

**

Luna’s reprimand haunts him for days. It bothers him so much that Harry eventually starts asking around. Strangely his enquiries don’t turn up much. There is nothing, but the report filed, no witness statements, no forensic analyses, nothing. It doesn’t even seem to be simple negligence, because the more he asks the more close-mouthed people become.

What he turns up after two weeks of putting his current cases on hold, is a single paragraph that appears to have been purposefully misplaced. In his frustration he had used a summoning spell in the archive and the short length of parchment had rushed at his face. It was a statement that Draco Malfoy had given, on how he had ended up in hospital under the influence of a curse that had damaged his arms, legs and face. There was no information on what kind of curse it had been; what the aftermath had been, or how the investigation, if there had been any, had gone.

As much as Harry wants Luna to be wrong, the fact that no investigation had followed such an obvious attack leaves him very few options. He’s an Auror, he has a responsibility to society to serve and protect. Even to those members of society that have less than a clean slate and might not deserve it. Which is why he begins to look further into attacks against former Death Eaters or because he begins to worry about Albus, against members of Slytherin house. Strangely, he doesn’t find any further reports. When he digs a little deeper, what he finds are reports on accidents, to investigate those further, he will have to requisition data from other branches of government which would mean starting a paper trail.

What Luna has led him to discover is likely to go up much higher than just a few badly filed reports and it wouldn’t do to alarm the wrong people at this time where he can’t prove anything. So he goes back to his first source, not Malfoy, he’s not ready to face him again, despite desperately wanting to know what happened to him and whether he is ok.

That’s how Harry finds himself on Luna’s doorstep a month after their original encounter in his living room.

When she opens the door, she looks a little frazzled, or rather more than usual, her hair sticking up like someone had repeatedly run their hands through it and Harry notices, her blouse is buttoned the wrong way.

“Harry, how nice of you to drop by.” It’s obviously a lie.

“Can I come in?” he asks, despite the evidence to the contrary, especially when there’s a noise behind the half closed door. Luna is obviously waving her hand in a frantic manner at whoever made it. Hot jealousy shoots through Harry when he realises it could be Draco, who made her look freshly fucked. He has no claim on Draco whatsoever, he knows this, but it still bothers him so much that he wants to push the door open and see for himself.

Luna seems to hear something that Harry can’t and opens the door wider, letting him in. He strides past her, but all he catches of whoever was with her, is the faint sound of a door closing at the back of the house.

Harry follows Luna into the kitchen where they sit at a rickety table, both holding a cup of tea in their hands not quite knowing where to begin. The awkward silence between them is like a third member in a conversation that hasn’t even begun. It’s never been like this before and Harry really doesn’t like.

“Listen-“

“So-“

They speak at the same time and somehow their shared awkwardness breaks the tension.

“Why did you come by, Harry?” Luna finally asks, after Harry makes a “go-on gesture”.

“I was wondering about something you said about Malfoy.”

“Yes?”

“You mentioned I should look into the report, only when I got access to the case file there was nothing in it. It’s also the only report of a crime involving Death Eaters-.”

“Former Death Eaters,” Luna interrupts.

“Right, former Death Eaters,” Harry barely resists making air quotes but only because he knows it would get in the way of getting the information he needs out of Luna. “Don’t you think it’s odd that Malfoy’s is the only report? Basic statistics should reveal more crimes involving Death Eaters or former Death Eaters, but there is nothing after the war except for what relates to the war crime trials after Voldemort’s death. Considering that we have a database of Death Eaters, their connections as well as of Voldemort sympathisers and their social circles, more of them should show up. Even if only as bystanders or witnesses in cases, but there is nothing.”

Luna looks at him for a moment before resignedly putting her mug down.

“You seem surprised by this,” she says as if what he just told her isn’t news to her.

“Of course I am. Why aren’t you?”

“Do you know what I do for a living, Harry?”

“You’re what Hermione would call a therapist, right?”

“Yes and no, I work with victims of trauma.”

“What kinds?”

“All kinds really, some of them are related to personal tragedies, others to post traumatic stress disorders and others to assaults and abuse.”

“Are you saying you work with a lot of former Death Eaters and their victims?”

“No, Harry, I’m working with a lot of trauma survivors and most of them are former Death Eaters or affiliated with Slytherin House.”

“I always got the impression they were the aggressors in this situation. Why else would so many of them have their wands destroyed after the war?”

“Harry, I know you usually see the best in everyone, but you have a massive blind spot. I said this before, but almost everyone who did something you consider as bad still deserves a chance at redemption. You told me your own son got sorted into Slytherin. Do you think he should be on a government watch list for his talents?”

Harry mutely shakes his head.

“I didn’t think so. So what do you think comes of everyone vilifying Slytherin House? Not everyone who was a Death Eater belonged to Slytherin House, just think of Peter. He was a Gryffindor and he was the reason Voldemort came back and why so many died. Did everyone turn against Gryffindor House? No, they said he was just a young confused boy, easily influenced and had always seemed nice and kind. As soon as a Slytherin so much as bumps into someone on the street, the press is all over it and do you know what else? I get anonymous calls about being needed for trauma counselling. And it’s never the other person who needs the counselling.”

Taking a sip of his tea gives Harry time to mull over what he has just heard.

“So, you’re saying that crimes against former Death Eater, their affiliates etc. Are underreported?”

“Essentially, yes. Not just underreported though, just not reported at all. I’m not sure how high this goes, but you probably know more about that than I do.”

“Is that why you came to me the other day?”

“Yes, and don’t think I’m not aware that I still haven’t heard a single word of apology from you about what you said to Draco.”

“Luna, it’s complicated, Draco and I-“

“Bullshit!” She interrupts again. “Saying sorry is never complicated, especially if you know you’re wrong. You’re just afraid that he won’t forgive you and frankly I don’t see why he should, after everything. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologise though.”

“I guess...”

“Fine, but I wouldn’t wait too long. You might not get another chance.”

Harry wonders whether she is implying that Draco is suicidal, or maybe it has something to do with why Harry wasn’t allowed to see whom Luna had spent her day with until he showed up. He grinds his teeth to calm himself as jealousy once again grips him.

“Listen, Luna, I want to investigate this further, but I have trouble getting more information without alerting what might be the wrong kind of people. Is there any way you could give me a patient list or something? If I could just talk to them, get their side of the story.”

“I’m sorry, but no. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure you know about doctor patient confidentiality, but that’s not why I’m not giving them to you. I know you only mean well, but I know you and I’m deciding not to reveal my clients to you, because I believe that to be in their best interest. However I can ask some of them if they are willing to talk to you on their own accord.”

“Alright,” Harry agrees, figuring that’s the best he can get for now. If worse comes to worst, he can always get Hermione to make Luna release her patient files.

“Thanks for your help. I’ll let you know if I find anything else and you’ll keep me updated if one of your patients is willing to talk to me?”

Luna nods.

“Great. I’ll see myself out.”

Harry leaves, feeling even more like he’s only grazed the tip of the iceberg and also strangely disturbed by what Luna implied about himself. Is he really just as bad as everyone else?

**

Hermione to no one’s surprise refuses to help Harry get access to Luna’s patient files. She however gets him in touch with Pansy Parkinson who has grown up to be quite the ball buster. Harry is reasonably sure that Parkinson must have faced some kind of attacks herself, but when he sees her and how at home she seems to be in Hermione’s living room, he’s not really sure what to think, let alone where to begin.

The conversation is stilted at first, until Parkinson seems to make up her mind and pretty much tells him straight to his face that if a Second Wizarding War retribution crime came across his desk, he wouldn’t know it and to kindly go fuck himself if he thought he needed to save them. He’d only made their lives harder by saving them last time so she’d rather do it herself than to rely on some idiot with a hero complex, thank you very much.

That’s when Hermione steps in, touching Parkinson’s arm and assuring her that while Harry might sometimes be slow on the uptake he always means well and that in this case she’ll make sure that whatever he does, nothing gets done that’s not in the best interest of those involved.

Parkinson opens up then and tells Harry about situations where only the fact that she’d had protective charms woven into her clothing had stopped assaults from taking place. How men felt entitled to her and her body, because she was a Slytherin bitch, whore, cunt. Tells him how she had stopped leaving the house altogether for anything but the weekly grocery run before she met Hermione. Not like she had been able to find a job, even if she’d wanted to. On one of those runs she’d met Hermione who had stepped in when a witch had spat at Parkinson, telling her she wished Parkinson killed herself for her sins. Yelling that she should take responsibility for what Voldemort and his followers had done.

Hermione describes how everyone had watched but nobody had done anything and how some people even smiled as if they enjoyed what happened. 

When the door closes behind him, Harry decides to take a walk. He feels like his whole world has been shaken to its very foundations. He always assumed there was some extend of hard feelings towards Slytherins and those who had relations to Death Eaters, he himself had always had his reservations about them, even while he was with Draco. What he had never expected was how widespread the general disapproval of Slytherins was. Or how the general public seemed to feel like harming a Slytherin was a service to society, not something wrong or despicable. Somehow widespread opinion seemed to be that whatever happened to them was something they deserved because of what had happened in the past.

While Parkinson hadn’t gone into details, she had strongly hinted at there being more just like her, both men and women who had been less lucky than her, who had to go to St Mungo’s after what had happened to them and who had been encouraged not to go to the Aurors. Hermione had suggested they both go back and talk to people to see who would be willing to report what had happened to them, at least to Harry that is, possibly even anonymously to protect them.

Harry had been wandering aimlessly for over an hour, when he finally made up his mind. He had to do something about it, but before that, there was someone he had to see.

**

It hurt when Draco removed the bandage that covered his left cheek, the jaw below it, as well as his neck all the way to his shoulder. He had already seen the damage the curse had done to his arms and legs, the scar tissue gnarly and an angry red, where it twisted along his previously unmarred skin. Draco took a deep calming breath before turning to the mirror to take in the full extent of his injuries. What he saw was even worse than what he had anticipated. The skin looked like it was both inflamed and necrotic, a viscous liquid covering the area, making his cheek look almost translucent. He turned away.

During the following weeks, Draco began covering all the mirrors in the house. It didn’t help. The dark hours were plagued by nightmares, of the cursed tissue spreading and consuming him whole. Later on, when he began writing to Scorpius to escape his loneliness, after his father had confined himself to the southern wing, afraid, as he said of getting infected, Draco’s dreams turned to the worse.

In the dreams he walked the halls of his home, encountering people who all either looked at him with an expression of scorn or revulsion or and these were the dreams that had him waking up screaming, where he reached for the people he loved, the curse leaping onto their skin and devouring them whole, while Draco had to stand by, unable to help or even move.

Despite the constant glamour that he wore that ate at his skin and left him in agony for hours afterwards, he felt like an impostor, like everyone was staring at him, like they all knew what he was hiding from them. In the end, Draco was unable to differentiate between dream and reality, withdrawing completely from society. The glamour though stayed on, there were too many reflective surfaces in his home and no escaping what whoever had attacked him had turned him into. 

When his sleep wasn’t plagued by nightmares he lay awake thinking about who could have attacked him and why. Who would leave him so much less than human, so lonely, when even before he had already been isolated? Sure, he had never needed to work for a living before, but maybe he would have liked to have the opportunity to make his own fortune, to give a new meaning to his family name, one that was removed from its dark past. That chance like so many others had been snatched from him. The curse had left him less than wizard kind, less than human, unable to cast or even be near magic without suffering constant pain. But maybe he deserved it, maybe it was some kind of karmic retribution for what he had done during the war, or maybe he and his family had caused so much pain that this was the price he finally had to pay for allowing himself to be blinded and mislead by a genocidal madman. 

**

Harry is surprised when Malfoy opens the door to him.

“What do you want?”

No hello, no nothing. But then, maybe Harry doesn’t deserve cordiality from Malfoy. Not after everything.

“I wanted to talk.”

“So... talk.” Malfoy says, without moving away from the door.

“I thought... maybe inside?”

Malfoy stares at him for a full minute that seems to stretch endlessly into the future, before turning around and leaving the door open for Harry to follow.

Malfoy Manor hasn’t really changed much since Harry was here last. The obvious absence of Death Eaters and prisoners in the dungeons doesn’t seem to have changed the feel of the place as much as one might expect. The long hallways seem gloomy and the wide rooms and staircases cold and void of life.

Harry doesn’t know where Malfoy is leading him, but follows anyway. They eventually arrive at a small parlour that looks out onto the grounds. The curtains are half drawn and there are stacks of books everywhere. From what Harry can glean, most of them are about horticulture. The chaise lounge looks slept in, a thick blanket carefully folded hanging over one end. Compared to the rest of the Manor this rooms is the only one that feels lived in.

Malfoy is leaning against the window frame, the light of the sun casting his face into shadow and making it hard for Harry to read his expression.

“So, talk.” Malfoy gestures at Harry but doesn’t offer him a seat.

The whole situation couldn’t have been more uncomfortable. Now that Harry stands in front of the man, he can’t seem to find the words. How do you even talk to someone whose heart you broke, whom you hurt so badly in a fight that they are probably still covered in scars? How does the word “sorry” get even close to making up for all of that? Maybe Luna is right, maybe it’s not so much about being forgiven but about asking for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.” Harry says, simply. Meaning the scars, the heartache, the recent insults, the trials after the war, everything he didn’t stop or even think about stopping.

“That it?” Draco’s voice sounds cold and uninterested.

“I guess...” Harry doesn’t know where to go from here. Should he explain what he is sorry for? Would it even make a difference?

“Fine. Leave. Now.”

That’s not what he wants, so he takes a step towards Draco, reaching out for him, but not quite daring to touch. Malfoy’s hand against his chest stops him.

“I said, leave.” Malfoy repeats, but his voice lacks conviction and his hand on Harry’s chest isn’t holding him back so much as just holding him there.

Harry does reach for Draco then, reaches for the hand on his chest and moves it up, pressing his cheek into it. He tries to hold Draco’s gaze but still can’t quite seem to catch it, the blazing sun turning Draco’s pale hair into a halo.

“I’m sorry,” he says again and this time the small word seems to encompass everything that’s wrong between them and most of which is Harry’s fault. Maybe Luna is right and he’s a bit of an idiot sometimes, this time for letting things get this bad.

It’s his Gryffindor courage that makes him turn his cheek further and press a kiss into the palm of Draco’s hand. When their gazes meet, time seems to stop. From one moment to the next they are crashing into each other, hands everywhere, tugging at clothes and tearing fabric where they can’t remove them fast enough.

Harry ends up face down on the chaise lounge, his clothes in tatters and moaning into the cushions when Draco pushes into him from behind. Their coupling is anything but gentle or loving, it’s frantic and forceful but to Harry it feels perfect. It’s something he didn’t know he wanted but exactly what he needed. Draco’s hands are in his hair, are caressing his shoulders and back. They reach around, one hand spreading possessively across his abdomen while the other holds onto his throat.

He can hear Draco’s pants and feel his breath graze his cheeks and with every powerful thrust Harry feels more and more alive. He comes with a curse and would have slumped forward but for Draco holding him up. Unlike in the past, Draco’s completely silent as he climaxes. Draco pulls out much too soon, putting an unwelcome distance between them.

Harry turns around and sees Draco already putting his clothes to right. The cold expression is back on his face. Harry feels vulnerable under Draco’s hard gaze and clumsily begins to get dressed in what remains of his clothes, while Draco’s sticky come starts to drip out of his hole. When, what amount of decency that can be accomplished is achieved, he doesn’t know what to do. 

“I believe you were leaving.” Draco says indicating the way they came in, a house elf is standing there, ready to take Harry back to the gate.

“Draco.” Harry pleads, but Malfoy turns away, looking out at grounds again. 

“You got what you came here for, now leave me alone.”

“That’s not...”

“Please, Harry, leave.”

It’s the sudden desperation in Draco’s voice that is tearing Harry apart inside. He wants to stop Draco from hurting, but it seems like he is the cause of that hurt, the only way to help him is for Harry to leave. He stares at Draco’s motionless form until the house elf begins to drag him away. 

The closing of the massive wooden doors behind him sounds final. Harry had come here to try and make amends and he’d made everything so much worse. Harry sits down on the hard steps, his dishevelled appearance no longer a care. He needs to think.

Hermione and Luna had both been right. He was an idiot and he acted impulsively and without concern of what his actions meant for everyone else.

To make things right between Draco and himself there are other issues he has to sort out first. It’s the only thing that matters and that he needs to protect at all costs. While he had been bitter and thought Draco had stopped loving him that obviously had never happened, much like how Harry had never truly got over Draco. If there is ever supposed to be a chance for them being ok again, Harry needs to find out what happened to Draco and all the others and he needs to put a stop to it.

With his mind made up, Harry straightens up, moves just outside the wards protecting Malfoy Manor and apparates back to his flat. He has work to do.

**

Harry has been at work all day, catching up on the cases he had neglected and writing enough reports to date and file whenever he was ordered to give an account of his activities. After he was done, he’d gone straight back to Draco’s case.

His coffee has grown cold by the time Harry has finally made up his mind, it’s coincidentally also the moment Ron and Seamus poke their heads into his office.

“Oi, mate, do you wanna come grab a pint?” Seamus calls and grins.

“Actually...”

“Harry, come on, you can’t keep saying you’re busy, I know the children and Ginny are at Hogwarts and as far as you know you don’t have anyone waiting for you at home.” Ron implores.

Ron is correct, it’s been a while. But what he has to do is more important, more important than his social life, maybe even more important than his family. He can’t let the injustice stand.

“Oliver is back from his stint in Germany and Percy is bringing him along.”

Harry hasn’t seen Wood in ages and Ron knows how much fun the three of them have every time Oliver gets a chance to share the changing room stories of professional Quidditch players. What Ron doesn’t know is that the fact that Percy is coming plays straight into Harry’s hands. Conveniently enough, Percy works for the magical health department. What Luna won’t give him and Hermione doesn’t have access to, Percy works with every day, the wizarding health records. So Harry decides to go.

The night out is fun. When Harry sees his chance, he mentions to a slightly tipsy Percy that he needs to have access to some patient files and health statistics for a case he’s working on. Percy generously invites him to come to his office the next day, before Oliver pulls him away.

**

Percy’s office is immaculate. Stacks of files frame one side of his desk and several pencils, all exactly the same length and sharpness, are arranged there as if by use of a straight razor. Percy adjusts his glasses, when Harry enters and gestures at the chair in front and at the very centre of the desk. He continues dictating something to a quill that’s racing across a scroll of parchment.

Harry observes Percy while he works, like one might a peculiar species of animal in the zoo. Even his movements seem incredibly efficient, like everything he does is something he has put thought into, tested and then decided on the most cost effective way to do it. Watching him, Harry wonders how Percy didn’t end up the wizarding equivalent of an accountant but then he remembers about Oliver and suddenly he gets it.

Order must give Percy a certain sense of control over his destiny, control that he doesn’t have when secretly dating an international Quidditch star. Maybe the plan he has come up with can help more than just former Slytherins.

The quill clatters to the desktop and Percy finally looks up.

“Sorry about that,” Percy says, before he taps the parchment with his quill. It folds up into an envelope and zips out of the room through a small slit in the door that Harry hadn’t noticed when he had come in. “Really needed to get that report out to my boss. Oliver and I are going on holiday next week.”

“Oh, where to?”

“I don’t really know, Oliver mentioned his family had property up near Inverness and he wants us to relax there for a week or two. Away from everything, you know?”

And Harry does know. He’s glad for people like Oliver Wood who have become so important that they are the ones people fill their personal pantheons with. Sure, Harry will always be the saviour of the wizarding world, but the fact that he refuses to give interviews or do anything but become an Auror who solves crimes, has removed him from the public eye more and more. Still, he appreciates the time where he doesn’t have to stop for autographs or a chat. He understands that people are still grateful and want to tell him, but he doesn’t feel like a hero anymore. Hasn’t for a long time. When he had realised how everyone had used him for their own plans and how his life had meant so little to some of the people he loved. The fact that they had moulded him to be a lamb that walked to its own slaughter, thinking it was of its own accord had changed how he saw himself.

Love makes fools of them all, it doesn’t even matter if it’s for friends, family or partners. Love makes people irrational and jealous and Harry would know. Because Draco wouldn’t open up to him and had kept his secrets everything had fallen apart and when he had spoken those toxic words, they had cut into the flesh of his soul as much as they had into Draco’s body.

What had happened had been so horrible that the only solution had been to blame Draco for everything. If he hadn’t been up to something, if he hadn’t lied, if he hadn’t kept secrets, Harry wouldn’t have been forced to do what he did. Deep down Harry knew and still knows that was a lie.

Thinking about his reasoning now is painful. He has had enough experiences with cases of domestic violence by now to recognise the arguments. “Look at what you’re making me do.” “If you didn’t break the rules, I wouldn’t have to punish you.” “It’s your fault, I’m like this.” “You know how I get when you do that.” He has heard it all before. Harry is overwhelmed with such a sudden wave of shame that he can hardly breathe.

“Harry, are you ok?”

“I-, yes.” Harry tries to shake off the horror of his realisation. “Bad memory.”

“Ah,” Percy replies, he smiles kindly. “You’re not the only one who still has trouble with that from time to time. Sorry I said something to trigger you.”

Harry twists his hands to calm down, before he speaks again. Is it a lie if he simply remains silent?

“It’s ok, it’s over now.” Harry straightens up in the chair.

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, what kind of files and reports are you looking for? Statistics, specific case files?”

Harry thinks about how to carefully phrase this without raising suspicions.

“I’m investigating cases of domestic abuse and since you know they are an underreported crime I need access to statistics with suspiciously high rates of accidents or accident prone witches and wizards.”

“Witches and wizards?”

“Yes, both, you of all people should know that witches can be pretty fierce when enraged. Men are just as likely to be victims as attackers.”

“Any specific age group?”

“Let’s say twenty and above, up until eighty to ninety.”

Percy makes a note of that. “No children?” he asks.

“No, there’s another department that’s already working on that. I’m focussing on domestic violence between adults.”

“Right. I’ll see what I have access to right now. I’ll request the rest and send it to your office later. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Harry spends his time waiting for Percy’s return measuring the pencils on his desk with a conjured ruler. Looking at them closely he can tell they were all cut by hand and yet, they are exactly the same length, to the millimetre.

It takes about fifteen minutes for Percy to return with a large stack of folders. They sound ominously heavy when he sets them down on his desk.

“I’m sorry to say, this is only about ten percent of what we have. The rest seems to be in storage, but I should have it in your office before I leave for Scotland. The problem is that these can’t leave the building, so you’ll have to look into them while you’re here. I hope that’s ok.”

“Sure, as long...”

Percy anticipates what Harry needs and points to a small table in the corner, just large enough for a stack of files and a sheet of parchment.

“Make yourself at home.”

So Harry does. What he finds is not unexpected, yet shocking. The amount of hands that got broken by _accidentally_ closing a door on them is staggering, as is the amount of ligaments and tendons torn, in hands, knees and ankles, as well as bruises, lost teeth and concussions. If this is only ten percent of the accidents that were reported they have far bigger problem than even Luna had anticipated. Harry takes to writing down the names and kinds of injuries to cross reference with the people on the Ministry’s watch list once he is back in his office.

Harry is almost done, when Percy tabs him on the shoulder.

“I need to go home now, but I can’t leave you in this office unsupervised. Did you get what you needed? Otherwise you can always come back when I’m back in the office. Also you’ll still have those files I’ve requested be forwarded to your office.”

Harry smiles grimly at Percy.

“Yes, I got what I needed. Thank you Percy.” He points at the small stack still left behind. “Can you make sure that I can include the content of those files as well? The others were very helpful and I don’t want to miss someone we might otherwise be able to help get out of an abusive situation.”

An abusive situation called being alive while exposed to the effects of fear mongering and vigilantism more like, Harry thinks to himself.

“Absolutely, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it myself.” Percy promises. That is the first thing Harry finds even remotely calming on this upsetting day.

They shake hands and both go their separate ways. Percy with a spring in his step but a sad set to his shoulders and Harry filled with renewed fervour. He’s definitely on the right track.

During the next two weeks, Harry tries to get in touch with Draco. He leaves several messages about taking up the investigation in the case of his attack, but never gets a reply. The more he works with the statistics Percy helped him get access to and the Ministry’s watch list however, the more the data supports his hypothesis. There is a suspicious lack of reporting of crimes in relation to these _accidents_ and while Harry found a few actual domestic violence cases, he can use to cover up what he is doing, the evidence he has uncovered shows plain as day that if a Slytherin, a former Death Eater or sympathiser has a so-called accident, which necessitates a stay in St Mungo’s, no criminal reports let alone charges are ever filed. Draco’s case being the only exception, not that it had made a difference.

Harry still doesn’t quite know what to do with the results he has found. The fact that nobody seems aware or even interested in helping makes him suspect everyone. Hermione and Ron as well as Ron’s partner Seamus were the only people he had spoken to about his suspicions and while Hermione was the only one who had been able to get him in touch with an actual victim exposing her isn’t an option.

Since Draco still won’t talk to him and Harry doesn’t want to give him the final push that will make him want to keep his distance for good, it only leaves Luna. Harry has been avoiding her, suspecting her affair with Draco is the reason Draco had regretted what had happened between them and now won’t talk to him. The fact that Luna hadn’t tried to get in touch with him and not even shown up for their monthly pub crawl, had only strengthened his conviction and made him keep his distance in return.

Now however, there is no way around it, he has to face her and what she might tell him.

**

It’s cold on Luna’s porch, when Harry waits for her to open the door and it takes longer than even last time. The little voice at the back of his head proclaims that she’s not opening the door because she is busy being fucked by the love of his life. He’s about to turn around and come back when he has himself under control again, but that’s when the door opens.

“Hey Luna, I...”

It’s not Luna and to Harry’s immense relief, it’s not Draco either.

“Potter, why don’t you come in?”

The person who opens the door and beckons him inside is none other than Millicent Bulstrode. What exactly is going on here?

She makes him sit in one of Luna’s comfortable armchairs and hands him a mug of hot tea before sitting down in the only other available chair, sipping from her own mug. Silence stretches between them and Harry feels powerless to it. Somehow in this entire bizarre situation, Millicent is the only one that seems able to break the silence, which she apparently chooses not to.

It’s at least another five minutes before Luna strolls in, dressed in a long woollen jumper that reaches down to her knees and a pair of comfortable looking, curled stockings. With nowhere to sit, she perches on the armrest of the chair Millicent occupies. She smiles at him encouragingly and suddenly Harry can find his words again. It feels strange not to address the wholly unexpected matter of the third person in the room.

“Luna, I know you said you wouldn’t reveal any of your patient files to me.” He says and quickly adds “and I respect that,” when it seems like she is about to protest. “I looked into the data available to me without raising too many red flags, but I need more. I don’t want to pressure anyone into anything that would endanger them. I was just hoping you’d be willing to ask some of them to speak to me. For this case to move forward, I need confirmation and I need reports to be filed and people to press charges. If that doesn’t happen, I’m not sure how to help them. Especially since the only person I know who wanted to press charges won’t talk to me.”

Luna takes her time thinking it over, taking Millicent’s mug from her and taking a sip before passing it back over. It seems like she has made up her mind.

“Just up front, I will not discuss you and your dealings with Draco any longer. You won’t listen to me anyway and while I don’t think you are good for each other, he told me he would take care of it himself. Now, I’m assuming you found some correlation between accidents and the involvement of Slytherins or former Death Eaters and their affiliations, is that correct?”

“Yes, although I did discover a few cases of repeated domestic violence that I will have to get back to once this is all sorted out.”

“Be that as it may, you already implied that you can’t protect the people who press charges from what is already happening to them. A kind of viral public violence towards what people consider the losing side of the second wizarding war, with nobody there to interfere. What makes you think them pressing charges will make a difference?”

Harry mulls this over for a moment, trying to figure out how to best phrase this.

“I believe, if we could get one or two people who have been assaulted, to press charges or at least attempt to press charges, we will be able to trace what happens to the reports and see who is behind the campaign of blackmail that must be going on for all those assaulted to suddenly claim they fell down the stairs. I believe they would have tried the same with Draco if his case hadn’t been so high profile and even then they just made the reports disappear by misplacing the witness statement itself and neglecting to preserve any evidence.”

“But do you think the risk is worth it?”

“To be honest, while this will have very little influence on the people feeling entitled to punish someone for the second wizarding war, because changing public opinion and making this practise part of public awareness will take a lot of time and effort, if we can charge someone higher up, maybe even on the level of Minister for Magic, we might be able to bring more of those attackers to justice instead of silently indulging them.”

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I don’t think I can help you,” Luna says.

“She might not be able to, but I certainly can,” Millicent says with conviction. This is followed by a short and quiet discussion between her and Luna that ends with Luna looking pissed and Millicent smiling indulgently behind her back.

“Luna thinks the risk is too big and while I appreciate the sentiment, I think the greater good is of more importance here. I can’t sit by any longer and just let this happen to others, just because it’s not happening to me.”

“But what if they hurt you?”

“They won’t. I’m sure Potter will try his best to protect me.” She squeezes Luna’s thigh through the thick fabric of her jumper. “Plus, if I move in with you, how are they supposed to know where to find me unless I tell them? It’s not like you haven’t already illegally placed an untraceable charm on me, is it?!”

Luna blushes which turns her a shade of red that Harry has never seen on her before. She seems happy though, irrationally so.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that part about something illegal going on.” Harry says, feeling like a weight has been lifted from him. “Congrats on moving in together by the way.”

“Thank you,” Luna says, smiling at Millicent. Both of them only have eyes for each other, so Harry excuses himself and leaves, but not before getting Millicent to agree to come to his office the next morning to file a report.

**

Seeing the two of them together makes him long for Draco, but without having solved who is behind everything he feels like he doesn’t deserve to attempt and righten things between them just yet. He needs something concrete, something that’ll not only make Draco listen to his apologies but will make him forgive Harry.

Millicent shows up bright and early the next morning and it only takes one look from her to see right through him.

“So, you and Draco, huh? I thought that was all over after that bathroom fiasco in sixth year.”

“It was.” Harry is too stunned to lie. “How did you...?

“Oh, Draco didn’t tell anyone, don’t worry. I was seeing someone in Hufflepuff at the time and Draco and I bumped into each other a couple of times on our way in and out of the dungeons. He was sporting some pretty amazing hickeys, if I recall correctly and so were you the next day, but neither were Pansy or Weasley whom everyone thought you were shagging at the time. And if there is one thing I know for a fact, it’s that Draco doesn’t share and is very obvious about marking his territory.”

“And what about the end?”

“Well, at first there was the accident and while all of us where in the hospital wing to visit him one time or another, you never showed up. Not even once. And then the hickeys began to fade, both his and yours and while I know you went camping the year after and would have been away, this time you weren’t. I always thought it was a bit of a shame.”

Harry is glad that she doesn’t know but feels like she needs to know the truth if she is willing to take such risks for him.

“Do you know what happened during the accident?” His voice catches on the last word and he sounds like an old man. Clearing his throat doesn’t seem to help.

“I always figured some kind of potions accident, you know, like when you and Hermione used to brew potions in the second floor girls’ bathroom? Only he was working on something new all the time, we all thought he was out there experimenting or something, that is when he wasn’t out there shagging his boyfriend silly.” She smirks at him and Harry blushes, remembering all too well how the shagging part had never been a problem between the two of them.

“That’s not exactly how it went.” Harry begins and then tells her what happened. He finds himself telling her so much more than he would ever have expected to tell anyone else, let alone someone he barely knew. He tells her about his shame, his guilt, his jealousy and even about what had happened when he had last seen Draco. Somehow telling her and not Hermione or Luna makes it easier and the words come faster and faster until he can barely keep up. When he reaches the day Draco kicked him out of the Manor, he feels exhausted and broken, yet liberated, now that he isn’t the only one who knows everything.

“That’s kind of fucked up.” Is the first thing Millicent says to him, it makes him reel for a moment before she continues, “but then so are you and so is Draco. I believe things will be fine eventually.”

Harry doesn’t quite know what to do with himself after vomiting his feelings all over her like that. She seems to know exactly what to do and it doesn’t take long until he has regained his composure enough to take down her statement and file a report. Millicent helps with a spell Luna must have taught her, making the author and the trace Harry himself puts on the report, untraceable. 

They say their goodbyes and while they’ve shared something very personal they are not friends, not even on the way to becoming acquaintances, but somehow that’s ok too. Before she leaves, Millicent tells him that if he ever needs to over share his feelings with someone who won’t judge him, he knows where to find her.

**

Nothing happens for more than a week, the report they had filed stays put, it’s read by several different Aurors and personal. Harry has planted a bug designed by Hermione to monitor who accesses their report and what is being said in its vicinity. He’d tested it with the help of Ron and Seamus who ostensibly had looked at the report in connection with a mugging but had then disregarded the witness statement made by Millicent as unreliable and returned the report. Another two Aurors read the report but discarded it as the case not being high profile enough to advance their career. Quote: Nobody cares about what happened to some Death Eater bird. Then there was Dennis Creevey who while he didn’t say anything spent quite a while with the document but left it where it was. 

Harry later finds out that Dennis is merely working on keeping the crimes statistics up to date and had gathered the information on the request of their head of department, Susan Bones. Harry disregards this access as well, as the report is still there and neither of them has a motive. At this point he’s starting to suspect everyone in the Ministry. It’s unbearable and Harry wishes whoever was responsible would finally make a move.

Harry can’t show up at Malfoy Manor without hard proof of the conspiracy he knows is going on inside the Ministry and it’s tearing him up inside. Weeks pass and still there is nothing going on and still no word from Draco either. Millicent comes by his office several times but they don’t really do anything but talk about how fucked up everything is, them included. Eventually Millicent brings a bottle of Firewhiskey and despite his better judgement Harry helps her empty the whole bottle. He’s never been drunk at work and rather than getting caught he decides to apparate home. Splicing be damned. It’d probably hurt less than his heart does even thinking about Draco.

No one is more surprised than Harry, when he doesn’t splice himself and ends up in his living room without much ado. He sinks into his favourite armchair and falls promptly asleep in his clothes and shoes.

**

“We need to tell Master...”

“But Mistress must have changed the wards, this wouldn’t have happened otherwise.”

Harry awakes to an agitatedly whispered conversation. The noise makes him sit up abruptly and the stabbing pain punching through his head makes him fall back into the chair just as fast.

The noise immediately stops, but the damage is already done. Harry feels like he’s being watched, but he doesn’t want to risk opening his eyes again, what’s more, he wishes he was dead right now.

The whispering begins again, quieter this time and the only thing Harry’s hung-over head is able to make out is a single phrase.

“I don’t care, I’m calling Master.”

There are two faint popping noises and Harry deducts that he’s alone again. Moving still isn’t an option, the headache much too severe and the armchair way too comfortable. While Harry attempts to become one with this beautiful, beautiful piece of furniture, he waits for the inevitable screaming to begin.

He must have fallen asleep again, because when he comes to, the room is much darker and that alone turns his headache from a screaming inferno into something far more manageable. A cool hand is resting against his forehead and Harry relishes the touch. This is exactly what he needs. Another hand comes up and pushes a glass against his lips. Only when the liquid touches his tongue does he notice how thirsty he is. He gulps whatever it is down quickly and only notices the bitter aftertaste after the glass has been taken away.

Oh, Merlin! Has he just let himself get poisoned? 

He sits up again, trying to push whoever is still hovering over him away. The person he can’t see in the darkness of the room tries to calm him but only makes it worse. Harry fights against them and manages to get away. He ends up pressed against a wall, frantically taking in his surroundings. It’s too dark to see anything but shapes all of them vague and threatening.

“Potter, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone freak out over a hangover potion as much as you did just now...” a sardonic voice says. Harry turns towards the sound, he knows that voice.

“Draco?” he asks, his voice scratchy and his throat feeling like sandpaper. His mouth tastes not only bitter now but also like something died in it while he was asleep.

“Who else did you expect to find at Malfoy Manor?”

Harry doesn’t know, he only just now realises that he must have apparated to the wrong house.

“How did I get in?”

“Mother just told me she changed the wards.”

“But why?”

“She didn’t say.”

Silence stretches between them after that. Harry’s eyes are slowly getting used to the darkness in the room and he thinks he has correctly identified one of the shapes as Draco. He’s not sure if he should go over there or leave. Since he still hasn’t anything to show for the weeks without contact since they slept together, he decides to leave. Harry pats his pockets but can’t seem to locate his wand. The Draco shape speaks up again.

“Are you looking for this?”

Harry doesn’t know what will happen. He knows Draco is not really his enemy anymore, but they aren’t lovers or friends either, maybe not even acquaintances. They are only people who happened to go to the same school. It’s impossible to know where they stand and how Draco will react. Despite everything or maybe because of it, Harry is suddenly scared.

“Technically, I won it fare and square, Potter.”

It’s difficult to interpret Draco’s tone of voice, he sounds almost playful.

“Give it back.”

“So you can attack me again? I don’t think so.”

And they are back on known terrain. Harry finds himself almost picking up the fight. But he’s so tired, tired of everything, of fighting, of having to live up to expectations, of loneliness.

“I’m not doing this,” he decides and turns around looking for a door. There should be one here somewhere.

When he finds it, he turns around, his hand on the door knob, “keep it, if you like, it’s not like I don’t have another one at home. Yours in fact.”

He steps into the darkened hallway. Why is everything so dark in this damn house all of a sudden, he wonders. Draco calls after him, but he doesn’t stop walking.

“Potter... Harry, wait.”

Draco’s hand touches Harry’s shoulder and this time he does stop.

“What do you want from me?” Harry feels like all the hurt inside of him comes pouring out in those words. The hurt he had caused both of them, the hurt he has no right to feel or even use against Draco.

“I don’t know.” Draco says.

They just stand there, Harry turned away and Draco holding onto his shoulder, their faces hidden in the darkness. Draco moves forward and pushes Harry’s wand back into his hand, the touch feels electric. Harry grabs Draco’s hand and quickly turns around. He looks at their hands and sees something on the back of Draco’s, something that disappears into the sleeves of his dress shirt and then reappears on his neck and face. He’s startled for a moment but doesn’t let go. Their eyes meet. 

Harry reaches up to touch the back of Draco’s hand, it feels ridged in parts and then soft and sticky, like it’s covered in mucus.

“What?”

Draco tears his hand out of Harry’s grip and when Harry looks at him again, whatever he thought he had seen is gone. The skin he can make out in the dim light that filters through the curtains is as pristine as ever and without touch, there is no way for him to tell.

“I think you best leave.”

“But Draco, what was that?”

“None of your business.”

Draco visibly pulls into himself. Harry senses that this might be his last chance, he reaches for Draco again, who tries to evade his touch. This time Harry makes sure to hold onto him where cloth covers his skin, because part of him knows that Draco would appreciate direct skin contact even less than this. He squeezes Draco’s forearms once, before catching his reluctant gaze.

“I think we need to talk, don’t you? Things can’t go on like this.”

Draco is a still as a statue before he nods in response, he gently frees himself from Harry’s grip and beckons Harry to follow him.

They end up in the same parlour they were in the last time Harry had been to the Manor. This time the curtains are closed, the thick fabric only letting through a few errant rays of light. Barely enough to help Harry navigate between the pieces of furniture.

They alight on the chaise lounge, a hand width’s distance between them, that feels like a vast ravine and Harry has no idea how words are supposed to bridge it. Draco is the one who is brave enough to speak first. He tells Harry of his time at Hogwarts while Voldemort was staying at his house, tells him how hard it had been to accept that Harry would hurt him the way he did, the scars a constant reminder and the fixed glamour he began to wear now a part of his very being. He talks about being lonely and how a loveless marriage hadn’t changed his feeling of constant alienation.

It’s difficult for Harry to hear without touching Draco, unable to give the simplest of comforts. Compared to what Draco went through, Harry’s own experiences seem almost kind in comparison. It’s when Draco begins to talk about the attack at King’s Cross that his speech becomes stilted, his words slowing until they dry up completely.

For once Harry knows what to do and lets his impulses control his actions. To be attacked in what has always been considered a safe place must fundamentally change the victim’s world view as it has in Draco’s case. Enemies everywhere, one behind the other. The reports that Harry had looked into that had come in from St Mungo’s after the attack implied that while they had managed to save his life they hadn’t been able to help Draco much other than in healing him from what had happened.

Harry reaches for Draco’s hand, this time expecting the strange contours and the heat from the festering skin.

“Are you still wearing it?”

Draco looks up at him.

“The glamour, I mean.”

Draco nods.

“Would you... can you take it off?”

Draco lowers his gaze and shakes his head. Harry understands that it’s won’t rather than can’t.

“Please, for me? I promise it’ll be ok.”

It’s a pretty bold statement to make, considering Harry has no idea of the extent of Draco’s injuries. Nobody but Draco knows, not even Luna. Draco looks at him and must find something in his eyes that gives him the courage to release the glamour. The air around him flickers like wind brushing across the water in a pond and then Draco is there, almost the same except for the angry red scars all over his face, neck and arms that ooze some kind of viscous liquid.

Harry is glad that Draco had looked away again, ashamed of his own reaction, because he is shocked by what he sees. Draco must be in incredible pain and no one seems willing or even to care enough to help.

“No,” Draco suddenly calls, leaning back when Harry reaches for his face.

“It’s ok.”

Draco stops moving and Harry’s fingers encounter the damaged skin in the centre of his cheek. It is warm and sticky, nothing like what Harry remembers from their youth. Harry is afraid of hurting Draco, but it seems like Harry’s touch is actually soothing the ache somehow.

“What are you doing?” Draco asks, his voice sounding distressed, as if he had expected pain instead of whatever else was happening and didn’t know how to handle it.

“I’m not doing anything,” Harry says, fascinated by how the skin underneath his fingers seems to lose some of the inflamed quality, the colour returning back to a more normal skin tone. 

When Harry removes his hands altogether to get a bit of distance between them, the colour flares up again and Draco cries out in pain. Harry hurries to place his hand back on Draco’s skin as fast as possible.

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know, at St Mungo’s they said that magic makes my condition worse, but you are one of the most powerful wizards in the world and you’re not making it worse.”

“I need a moment to think,” Harry says, mulling things over in his mind.

Harry takes Draco’s hand into his and places them both on his thigh, before removing his other hand from Draco’s cheek. There doesn’t appear to be any change.

“Would it be ok... do you want to try something?”

Draco takes a deep breath and nods.

“It seems like your pain lessens when I touch you and from what I can see the swelling and inflammation actually get less severe where my skin touches yours. I want to try if it matters who touches whom and what happens if we let go again.”

“Ok,” Draco’s voice is scratchy as he talks, it’s full of equal parts conviction and fear.

“Right, how about we let go on the count of three and you try touching me first.”

“I’m ready.” Draco is visibly bracing himself against the pain.

Harry lets go and Draco hisses, before immediately reaching for Harry’s hand again, but nothing seems to change, he touches Harry’s forearm, his neck and cheek and nothing seems to help. Draco’s breaths are coming in small painful huffs and his unoccupied hand is clutching the armrest as if his life depends on it. Harry decides he has seen enough and reaches for Draco again. The tense lines in Draco’s forehead immediately lessen.

“Ok, so that didn’t work. Has anything like that ever happened with anyone else that’s touched you?”

“No, depending on their power, touch is painful too, especially when I’m wearing the glamour.”

“What about Luna?”

“Luna and I only talk, or rather, she makes me talk.” Draco looked sheepish for a moment. “It’s why I haven’t responded to her letters lately, I just wouldn’t know what to say.”

Harry is enjoying this calmness between the two of them. It’s unlike anything they’ve had before, even back in Hogwarts after they’d first got together it had always been a fight.

“I need to check something but I’ll need to use my wand for it.” This new peace between them seems so fragile, Harry thinks it’s best to announce his plans rather than act without explanation. It’s a lesson in self discipline, but he finds he doesn’t mind so much, because he’s doing it for Draco.

“Ok.”

Harry takes his wand, ready to cast several spells, but pauses.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if anything I do is hurting you, ok?”

“I will.”

Harry takes a deep breath and casts the first spell. The two of them are surrounded by a purplish aura of magic, Harry’s own skin shimmering in a warm red and Draco’s in a dark green. Where his skin is hurt, the aura looks sickly, making Draco’s own aura look patchy and yellow, like dying grass.

Where their skin is touching, the yellow in Draco’s magical aura turns darker until it resembles the green of his healthy aura, but as soon as they are disconnected, the pus-like colouring returns. Harry has a terrible suspicion. He gives his wand a flick and the colourful lights disappear.

“How long ago did you say this happened to you?”

“Three years.”

“And has it always been like this? Have there been any changes?”

“No it’s always been the same.”

“So, you’re telling me you are technically in the exact same condition you left St Mungo’s in?”

“Yes, why? They said there wasn’t much they could do for me and that they’d keep looking into the matter.”

“Not much?” Harry is furious now. “How about doing anything! I can’t believe them, they swore to heal those who came to them.”

“Harry, what is going on?”

“The spell I just cast, it showed me two things, one that our auras are actually perfectly compatible and that my magic can be used to heal you. The other thing is much more sinister and you should call your family lawyer.”

“Tell me already.”

“You said they told you there was nothing more they could do. Draco, they lied, they didn’t cancel the curse! They just left it to fester and that’s why the skin has not been healing and why using magic has been painful. Every time you use it, it strengthens the curse’s hold on you.”

“What?” Draco seems stunned until Harry can see the panic rise in him. “Get it off, get it off, get it off!” He shouts.

His flailing disconnects him from Harry’s hold and he begins to thrash and scream in agony.

“Draco, stop. Stop! It’ll be ok.”

The only thing for Harry to do seems to be to drag Draco against his chest and sling his arms around his torso, holding on like a vice, while Draco begins to sob in desperation. Once Draco has stopped fighting him, Harry begins to stroke along his arms and presses his own cheek against Draco.

“Shh, it’s fine, it’s all going to be ok.” Harry rocks them back and forth until Draco has calmed down enough to be open to reason.

“What are we going to do now?” he asks.

“I’m going to try and cancel the curse, but before I’m doing that, I need to collect the curse’s magic signature as evidence.”

“No. Please, just take it away.”

“Draco, it won’t take long, I promise.”

Draco takes a calming breath and nods, his fingers clenching into the fabric on Harry’s thighs.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

Harry can cast the signature detection spell without adjusting their position, so he doesn’t. He summons a small glass phial with a stopper from the mantelpiece and places it between his thigh and the back of the chaise lounge.

“Close your eyes.”

Draco obeys and only when he does, does Harry cast the spell, taking a sample of the curse and siphoning the thin strand of magic off into the phial before magically sealing the stopper into place.

“Can you call one of your house elves over?” Before he has finished speaking a house elf appears beside them. It seems like the wards weren’t the only things that were changed when it came to Harry.

“Could you take this to my friend Hermione, please? And tell her to test it for magical signatures? It’s urgent.”

The house elf nods and takes the phial before disappearing with a small pop.

“Now, since the curse has essentially been grafted into your skin and aura over time, I need direct access to the affected area.” Harry tries to sound as clinical as possible not wanting to sound like he just wants to get Draco out of his clothes. That hadn’t worked last time and wasn’t likely to have the results they both want and need.

“Fine, come with me.”

Harry follows Draco through several long corridors and up two flights of stairs. They eventually reachs a spacious room that looks like it hadn’t been used in years.

“This used to be my room, before...”

Draco doesn’t have to continue for Harry to understand. While what he wants most is to chase the darkness around Draco away, he knows it’s not as simple as tearing open the curtains and casting a few cleaning charms. Although, coming to think of it, the latter might be a good idea. Draco seems to have anticipated his objections to using the room and calls a house elf in to prepare the room for what they will have to do.

The house elf seems delighted to do its job and Harry guesses that’s because Draco had probably forbidden it access to his private quarters after the attack. Once everything is done, Harry motions towards the bed. Draco sits on the very edge of the mattress, fretting with the sleeves of his shirt and not quite willing to undress now that the time has come.

To forego having to open the curtains for more light, Harry casts a spell that leaves a dozen warm glowing orbs floating over the bed and casting a golden light. Draco visibly relaxes but doesn’t move other than that.

“I’m not sure this’ll help, but what if we both took our clothes off?” Harry asks.

“Pervert.” It’s the first time in years that Draco grins at him.

“I just... maybe you’d feel less vulnerable...”

“Yeah, yeah, go get to it then, Potter.”

Despite their bantering, it’s still awkward for them and they keep their backs turned as they both strip down to their boxers. Draco had let go of his hand when they had entered the room and while his eyebrows are still scrunched, it seems like the pain has returned to a level that Draco is used to coping with.

“Can you lie down in the middle of the bed?”

Draco complies and Harry kneels beside him, his wand at the ready.

“Now this might actually hurt. I’ve never had to cancel a curse that has been attached to a person for such a long time. While I really want you to tell me, if what I’m doing is hurting you, I’ll probably only be able to stop at certain intervals.”

Draco looks scared, but he nods anyway. Harry squeezes his forearm reassuringly. Then he calls one of the orbs down to shed light on Draco’s hand, before casting the earlier aura spell again. 

“Ready?”

Another nod.

Harry bends forward and touches his wand to the affected skin on the back of Draco’s hand. Draco whimpers at the contact.

“Keep going,” he forces out through clenched teath, when Harry hesitates.

So Harry does. It’s difficult at first to untangle the curse and Draco’s aura. It is almost as if Draco’s own magic had fused with the curse, which might be due to the glamour Draco said he was forced to wear in public ever since sixth year. Harry can’t bear the guilt and lifts Draco’s fingers to his mouth and gives each fingertip a quick kiss in silent apology.

As the curse begins to unravel from Draco’s aura and the old glamour dissipates, even more scars become visible along Draco’s torso. Harry wants to stop and run his hands across them, but he can’t. When Harry reaches Draco’s shoulder, there are beads of sweat on Draco’s forehead and his free hand is clenching the sheets so hard that the fabric is on the cusp of tearing.

“Almost finished with the first strand,” Harry promises. Draco clenches his teeth in response, before finding Harry’s gaze. His expression is clear, despite the scars and the pain displayed there. “Scared, Potter?!” it seems to say. Harry knows they both are but that has never stopped either of them.

Harry unravels the strand all the way up to Draco’s cheek and has to sit on his chest to keep him still. The sickly yellow light floats up and then disperses in a shower of sparks. Both of them are panting from exertion. 

When they are done with Draco’s torso, arms, neck and face they take a break. While the curse slowly creeps back up Draco’s torso, it doesn’t do it fast enough to be a real danger. Harry runs his hands along Draco’s arms, neck and chest and at the end cups his face. Where their skin touches the inflamed skin becomes light pink scar tissue that looks like it had healed over years ago. It remains like that, even when Harry gets up and takes his hands away.

The pain obviously floods back into the areas where the curse is still active, but everything else remains unaffected. They are on the right track.

It takes several hours for Harry to free Draco from the curse and by the end of it they are both exhausted. Harry runs his fingers over every bit of cursed skin and only stops when everything that was cursed has become scar tissue.

The two of them lie there, wrung out physically and emotionally, unable to speak. They can’t seem to let go, let alone stop. Draco had begun returning Harry’s touches, despite them having no healing effect on Harry. Every touch, every caress on both their sides, is like a silent phrase. An “I care about you, I treasure you, I trust you and I love.” Neither of them is ready to put any of those feelings into words, yet they both understand each other perfectly.

In the end, Harry wraps his arms around Draco and they both fall asleep together. It’s the first dreamless night for both of them in a long time.

**

The result of the magical signature trace, when it comes back from the laboratory that Hermione supervises leaves no doubt. The curse that had affected Draco had been cast by none other than Harry’s Head of Department, Susan Bones. When she is arrested she simply states that what she had done was no less than what Draco Malfoy deserved, especially since the Wizengamot had decided not to punish him despite the atrocities that he had committed.

In her book and as becomes clear after they search her flat, a lot of other people’s books, any Slytherin, former Death Eater or affiliate is nothing but a war criminal that got away and if the law decides to let them get away, it is every citizens duty to protect the wizarding world from them, by any means possible.

The trial that follows is one of its kind. While the extent of negligence that spans the widths of all of wizarding society cannot be subject of one single trial, it does set a precedence. Once Susan Bones and Dennis Creevey are convicted, other victims come forward and a seemingly never ending trail of trials follows. Among them a private lawsuit against Zacharias Smith who worked for St Mungo’s and who Draco is suing for malpractice.

Harry spends most of his time that he isn’t directly involved in the case at Malfoy Manor. Often he also spends the night. They sleep together in the same bed, always curled up closely together, but with neither of them ready to have sex.

Only when the trial begins do they find their way back into each other’s arms. It’s Harry who initiates it and Draco who doesn’t protest, but rather pull him closer. Harry takes his time kissing all the scars, first the big ones, then the smaller ones, every kiss another apology and the last ones Draco will allow him. They both know they have to move on from the past and forgive each other to able to stay together.

Harry tells Draco that he loves him over and over as he rides him, while never stopping to caress his skin. They’ve never really taken the time, not when they were young, most of the sex was fast, done by two young men who were both committed to the same goal. Their personal history and experiences have changed them both and sleeping beside each other gives them an emotional closeness that had been missing before. Their lovemaking is akin to a worship of each other’s bodies that they are indulging in for the first time.

When they both climax almost at the same time, neither of them seems surprised and Harry cherishes the smile on Draco’s face that only grows brighter when he uses his own wand to clean them up. He did that, Harry thinks, he put that smile on Draco’s face. The smile that is only there for him and because of him. And finally he allows himself to let go of the guilt that he has been carrying around for years.

**

It’s during a press conference following the conviction of Susan Bones that Harry accidentally outs himself and Draco. Harry loses his composure when a reporter asks him, how he can defend Slytherins that actively fought against his side in the war. He gets so irrationally mad that he shouts abuse at the reporter. He asks him whether he is proud of supporting the fear mongering practised by so many. Whether he doesn’t think he has a responsibility towards making society better and not just chasing the next lame headline. It’s people like that reporter, Harry says, that make him ashamed of being a wizard and what is more, is that since reporters usually tended to twist his words, to make it clear once and for all: He had no prejudices against Slytherins or former Death Eaters, as he would be a hypocrite if he did, his son being a Slytherin and his boyfriend both a Slytherin and former Death Eater.

It is safe to say that Draco wasn’t happy to be outed like that, especially since the flock of reporters at the gates makes it hard for him to leave the Manor. That Harry, who has all but moved in, is in the same boat, doesn’t soften Draco’s scorn.

It takes Luna coming over to conduct a proper interview that is published in a special edition of the Quibbler the same day and makes the niche magazine reach a record-breaking run, for Draco to forgive him.

That night, after they made love, they lie awake in bed together, staring at the orbs hovering just under the ceiling. It’s Harry who speaks first.

“I think, I figured it out, you know.”

“What?”

“Why my touch could heal you.”

Draco just looks at him.

“It was altruistic intent. I wanted so badly for you to be ok that it didn’t matter if what I did would bring you back to me. The only thing that mattered was that you were ok, whether with or without my presence in your life. That’s when I realised that I love you, unconditionally and that I don’t need you to love me back, I just need to love you and that’s enough.”

Draco kisses him then.

“We are both lucky then, that I wanted you to love me and that I love you back.”

He smiles, there is no mirth in it this time, only tenderness.

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> The midly dubious consent involves touching where one character is ashamed of his appearance and doesn't want to be touched. It's not violent.
> 
> This fic refers to a series of hate crimes against Slytherins and former Death Eaters but doesn't describe them in detail. The attack that leaves Draco permanently injured is also motivated by hate.
> 
> While the Sectumsempra scene is discussed inthe story and Harry behaves like a bully towards Draco at the very beginning, the abuse in the tags does not refer to what happens between Harry and Draco after that one scene of verbal abuse at the beginning.


End file.
